


States Of Emergency

by Rozarka



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: AU, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-10-08
Updated: 2006-10-08
Packaged: 2017-10-30 19:35:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,655
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/335319
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rozarka/pseuds/Rozarka
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Years later, the <i>Daily Prophet</i> staff still reminisced about the day Cedric Diggory shagged Hermione Granger in his office.</p>
            </blockquote>





	States Of Emergency

**Author's Note:**

> AU: Cedric survived. (Written before DH was published, so Fred's not dead, either).

 

Years later, employees of the Daily Prophet office still spoke about the day Cedric Diggory started his job as chief editor.

At the morning staff meeting, he began by firing half the staff -- the most talented gossip-mongerers and Ministry-arselickers on Diagon Alley, no less. They were given their final pay cheques, dispatched out of the room with the firm suggestion not to linger, and those remaining sat shaken up yet curious and watched Diggory's steely-eyed, firm-jawed expression mellow out into his renowned, affable charm. He leaned on the cane that he still used after suffering a leg wound in the war, eyeing each and every one of them warmly.

"Now those of you who are left," he said earnestly, "you I can work with. I believe that like me, you're interested in taking this poor, disreputable gossip rag of a Ministry mouthpiece, and turning it into an example of respectable journalism."

That was the moment at which a dishevelled, red-faced Hermione Granger flung the door open and stumbled over to her chair, smelling (as Lavender Brown would later report all over wizarding London) like 'a Saturday night in a Knockturn Alley whorehouse.'

***

Hermione placed her notes before her and tucked a wild strand of hair behind her ear with an impatient gesture. She could do this. She was a professional; she could act like a professional, even though her appearance was currently not working in her favour. She smoothed her normally respectable skirt down for the umpteenth time (it didn't seem to want to stay put below the knee) and discreetly buttoned up the two buttons that kept displaying her cleavage. Ignoring the titters around her, she met her new editor's gaze coolly and said, "I apologize for being late, sir. Bit of an emergency before I left home."

Diggory's eyebrows climbed and his mouth twitched as he briefly took in her appearance, and she self-consciously raised a hand to pat down her hair, which was even wilder than usual. He was watching her in that way he had, eyes narrowed in thought, lips parted, the tip of his tongue pressing gently against his teeth.

She bet he thought he looked nice like that.

She was fucking well going to _kill_ the twins.

But in the end he only said, "Call me Diggory, Granger, as before," and kept on giving his well-prepared inspirational talk to the remaining staff. He outlined his aims, handed out tasks and projects, charming everyone he singled out, and finally his gaze came to rest on her. She offered up a neutral, yet cooperative expression, fidgeting to pull on the bottom of her skirt again as she felt the hemline inching up towards her mid-thigh.

"Now, you, Granger, have a great story going already on the Ministry's culture of soliciting bribes. I'd like you to continue on it, and I'm glad you've not been deterred because certain people haven't been willing to talk. I'm sure you can think of solutions."

She nodded, and again felt the odd, not-quite-dislike-not-quite-comfortable tension that had always crackled between the two of them during strategy meetings in the war. Diggory was whip smart, a sceptic, a bit of a show-off -- in fact, in many ways rather much like her. But he also was tons better than her at handling people with patience and sweetness so he got his way, and had always met her resulting competitive behaviour towards him with a subtle air of amusement that set her teeth on edge.

"I'm glad you like what you've seen so far," she said curtly. "I aim to uncover the truth." 

"I'm ... I'm sure you do." His eyes had widened, and he halted mid-step and swallowed audibly. She followed his gaze down and saw that her shirt had fallen open to display entirely too much pale skin and the top of her plain black bra. With a tiny, choked squeak she clutched at it with her hand and held it together.

God, she could actually smell the reek of sex on herself. She was going to kill, castrate, and torture the twins. Not necessarily in that order.

Diggory cleared his voice. There was a hot shade of pink creeping over his high cheekbones, as he turned towards his notes and picked up a folded piece of paper there. Leaning on his cane, he held it forth to her. "These are some additional names from minor Ministry departments who may not be on your list of informants. I suggest you check these people out."

Gingerly, she got to her feet, and crossed the floor to take the note, trying to clamp her wilful skirt to her thighs with her palms as she moved. Diggory watched her with a frown and tilted his head slightly as she came close, nostrils flaring -- he was _sniffing her_ , she realized, mortified, as though she were a bitch in heat! Outraged, she looked him straight in the eyes, and saw a shock of something there -- some sort of burning hot astonishment. Quickly, the note was placed in her hand.

"Thank you," she told him with a glare, her hand flying to hold her shirt together as she turned to leave. "If you don't need me for anything else at the moment, I'll be in my office."

"Oh, Granger." As she turned back to him, he leaned slightly in, lowering his voice, eyes flashing at her. "Next time I call a staff meeting, maybe you'd do me the favour of being punctual? And also of not smelling like you've spent the night servicing at an establishment of ill repute."

He'd spoken softly, but some must have heard it, because she heard a choked-down laugh at her back. A raging blush of unfairness and fury rose in her face. She stretched her spine to her fullest height and threw her hair back, fairly snorting and pawing the ground.

"Just to clear your mind in that regard," she snapped, "I haven't been getting any since Ronald Weasley died in the war -- _sir_."

His jaw fell. He took a step back, a shaky breath and started, "I'm very sor--"

"No more so than I am, Diggory," she spat out, striding from the meeting room and slamming the door.

Inside her tiny office, she leaned against the closed door, pressing her palms to her flaming face. "Fuck," she whispered quietly. On wobbly legs, she walked over to her desk and found, between the heaps of books, the photo of her, Harry and Ron that had been taken the summer after their sixth year at Hogwarts.

Ron had his arm around the Hermione in the picture, and she was laughing at him. It was just a few days after they'd kissed each other for the first time. It was the summer before the winter they had started sleeping together, the winter before the spring when Ron had died.

Taking a furious, shivery breath, she cast a _Muffliato_ charm on the room, walked over to the diminutive fireplace and tossed a handful of Floo powder inside it before leaning into the flames and shouting "Weasley's Wizard Wheezes!"

A moment later, she heard one of the twins say, "Er ... I think that would be her."

"Fred Weasley!" she said. "Or George, same difference. I am _so_ going to wring your sorry necks!"

There was silence, and then a careful, "You mean -- it didn't work?"

"Whatever you did, it worked to terrible excess," she cried. "Cedric Diggory just accused me of working the night shift in a brothel! ... Ah, stop it! It isn't funny!"

"Beg to differ, Hermione." The twin -- she thought it was Fred -- cleared his throat. "Um ... but did it have the intended effect on Diggory?"

"What god damned effect did you intend for Diggory?" she fumed. "He and I don't even like each other!"

"Again, beg to differ. All those strategy meetings during the war, when you would compete about presenting your ideas in the best light?"

George chimed in. "Really, Hermione, that was sexual tension so thick the rest of us could barely breathe!"

"I don't ... I ... that's not true! I loved Ron!"

Fred sighed. "Come on. We know that! You can have chemistry with someone without cheating on your own true love."

"All we are saying is, it was _there_."

Fred's voice gentled. "And your own true love ... is no longer there, Hermione. And Diggory is decent."

"Handsome. Good chap."

"Only don't quote us on that."

"Nah, we'd prefer to be cited anonymously."

She tore at her hair, ready to scream. "My shirt is falling open, my skirt is, well, skirting my .... _crotch_ , and I smell like a good time had by entirely too many people! You help me _now_ or I swear the pressure I'll put on you once I get to you is going to be _inhuman_!"

"Oi, calm down," said George hastily. "Come to the shop when you have a break. I think we can whip up the anti-potion in an hour or two."

***

Years later, everyone in the office still remembered the day Hermione Granger went into chief editor Diggory's office to hand in her resignation. The two of them had spent the entire first week performing an intricate, and to the spectators quite entertaining, dance to avoid meeting each other in the corridors. That is, Diggory seemed to have attempted to stop Granger by the water fountain on the morning after the staff meeting and started to apologize, and she had very briefly, but very efficiently, chewed his head off. After that, the avoidance pattern had been mutual.

Meanwhile, Diggory proceeded to rally the staff morale, to earn general respect and sympathy, and to effortlessly charm the female contingent's socks off. Already, Lavender Brown's new favourite joke was about scheming to screw up the job on purpose in order to get called in on the carpet and receive a spanking from his sexy mahogany cane.

On the Friday, Granger left her office, marched past the lunch room (which fell to avid silence) and knocked on Diggory's door, a neatly closed envelope in her hand.

***

Diggory lifted his gaze to her, tossing the resignation letter that he had just read onto his tidy desk. He raised himself up braced on the back of his chair, and his left hand clutched the handle of the cane that stood leaning against the side of the desk. She watched in stubborn silence as he made his way to the window, looking down into the street for a few moments, his jaw clenching as he gathered for the explosion.

While she waited, she looked around the office. Already, he had put his own mark on it. The pompous oakwood desk that had dominated the room under the former editor had been pushed to a corner, where the bookshelves surrounding it gave it a more practical, less intimidating look. The modern, ergonomically designed swivel chair he'd brought was yellow and black, a cheerful reminder of his House. Moving the desk from the center of the room had given space to a few comfortable chairs around a coffee table, which was adorned with a potted orchid from the staff, already enamoured of their new boss. He was so ... bloody _agreeable_ , she thought, tense with annoyance. It was maddening!

When his reaction came, it was curiously quiet. "Damn it, Granger. You're doing a terrific job, you're needed here, you're the single awesome thing bequeathed to me from the previous editor of this paper!" He drew his hand back through his hair, and turned to face her before she had time to wipe away her shock over his last statement. "I refuse to believe that you're childish enough to resign because of an embarrassing episode on the job."

"I can do this job as a freelance reporter," she said tightly. "It's not just that episode -- this is simply not going to work, Diggory. Let's face it, we tend to get on each other's nerves, you and I -- we did even during the war."

"Speak for yourself," he said with a frown. He walked back to his desk, reached out with his free hand and took her letter, and crumpled it, raising his voice as he dropped the ball of parchment in his waste paper bin. "I will not accept this."

She snorted and put her hands on her hips. "And how exactly do you intend to make me stay, hook me in and spank me with your cane?"

His eyes widened, the same moment hers did, and she raised her hand to her mouth, her stomach sinking with pure shame. "I didn't mean to -- it's just something that Lavender has been -- I mean, that was _not_ meant as a jibe about your --"

"My handicap? My masculinity? What was it then, an invitation?" He shook his head, looking a bit dazed even as his mouth quirked up at her incensed intake of breath. "Listen, Granger, before we say any more things we regret, can you _please_ let me apologize for what I said to you on Monday? I ... The situation caught me off guard, and I -- well, I felt on shaky ground and blurted out that incredibly obnoxious thing in self defence. I've felt awful about it all week."

He looked so earnestly sorry -- and God, when Cedric Diggory looked earnest he would have been able to sell socks to house-elves -- that it took the wind right out of her sails. Only, she still didn't really understand. "Why on earth would you be that upset? It wasn't even that much of a situation," she said softly. "Fred and George Weasley pulled a prank on me. They managed to douse me with some stuff that left me looking and smelling like --" She blushed. "Well, I think you pretty much summed it up."

"They did that on a morning right before you were going to work?" asked Diggory, and he actually seemed upset on her behalf. "That wasn't particularly considerate of them."

"Believe it or not, they meant well. It wasn't supposed to work that strongly. They had been telling me that now it's over three years since Ron died, I need to get out and meet someone, signal that I'm available again, and when they heard you were starting as Editor--" Realizing where that sentence was headed she shied abruptly as a horse at a cliff's edge, her lips pressing shut.

But Diggory was astute. He leaned against the edge of his desk, resting his cane beside him, and scrutinized her, eyes intent as he said calmly, "Me?"

God, could she get her foot any more firmly lodged in her mouth? "They have this stupid theory that you ... that is, that I ... er, forget it. The point is, they stopped by to call on me on Sunday night and they snatched the opportunity to spray this new potion of theirs on my bedclothes. I spent half the morning just trying to get it off me, or trying to think of a spell to dilute the effect. That was why I was late." She shrugged, looked at him with a rueful smile. "Nothing as colourful as earning my keep in a brothel."

He winced. "I still can't believe those words came from my mouth."

"I can't believe I blurted out what I did to you, either," she confessed, her cheeks heating up. "It felt like a great comeback at the time, but in retrospect, it ... it was hardly something that everyone in the office needed to know."

Slowly, he pushed himself away from the desk, leaning on the cane again. "Would it make you any more comfortable," he said, loud and clear, "if I tell you that I haven't been getting any since the war, either?"

"You ... er, pardon?" she stammered, something in his gaze and voice making her feel knocked off centre. 

He raised a hand. "Just a moment." With surprising stealth and speed, he walked to the door and jerked it open. Two reporters, a secretary and the janitor almost toppled over into the room. "The show is over," he told them curtly. He shut the door and got his wand from his pocket. " _Muffliato._ "

She stared at the door, an incongruous laughter threatening to bubble up in her throat. "How did you know? Are you like Mad-Eye Moody, now?"

He smirked. "No, only well acquainted with human nature. They've been talking about us all week." 

"So you said that thing ..." She bit her lip. "About you not getting any, just so that they would hear it, then."

"To distribute the humiliation more fairly, certainly." He leaned against the door and studied his feet, his long lashes shading his cheekbones for a moment before he raised his gaze level with hers. "Doesn't mean it's not true. The hex that nearly severed my thigh, it almost made my dick want to curl up and die, too," he said matter-of-factly. "It's taken a lot of spellwork and patience to coax things back into working order. Only time I tried to test it out in a, uh, natural situation, was a year ago or so, and it didn't work too well."

"Oh! I -- I'm so sorry." Her voice had gone wispy, whispery with sympathy. She wanted to offer something more encouraging, but she was too astonished by this unexpected confidence to think of anything else to say. She was also somewhat shocked that Diggory's confession to impotence had had the immediate effect of making her all tingly as her inner vision flashed with ways he might be helped over that condition.

"Yeah." His hand was messing up his hair again, an awkward, distracted gesture. "You're wondering why I'm telling you this."

"Er ... yes. I guess."

"It's by way of explanation. When you approached me in the meeting room on Monday morning, and I smelled you --" He chewed on his lower lip in hesitation for a moment, his eyes dark and thoughtful. "I got a physical reaction more unequivocal and instantaneous than I've had in three and a half years. I just stood there in the middle of the meeting room with this raging -- well, you catch my drift. I mean, I felt stunned. And really fairly desperate, since while it was quite a joyous occasion there wasn't a thing I could do about it. And then I said what I said in -- frustration, or just --feeling vulnerable and lashing out in self-defence, I don't know. I'm truly very sorry."

"Oh!" Oh, she felt like an idiot with her breathy little 'oh's. She wiped her hands on her thighs. "So ... Fred and George's potion had some sort of, um, enhancing effect on you?"

"Maybe?" he said quietly. "Except ... it wore off you during that day, but the effect's not been wearing off me." He caught her involuntary glance in the pertinent direction and shook his head with a quick, rueful chuckle. "I don't mean that I've been constantly in that state since Monday. But each thought, and every sight of you -- they've been throwing me into a state of sexual emergency the whole week."

"Me?" she squeaked. Sexual emergency? _She_ was having a sexual emergency. Right before his eyes. Did he really not notice?

"I've always liked you," he said. "Well, ever since we started working together in the war. Didn't you know?"

"Not really." Heat was rising in her as she sneaked another peek at the front of his loose, tailored pants. She was certain that what she saw wasn't just her imagination. Damn. He'd pretty much admitted to it, anyway.

"Well." He glanced away, and walked over to his paper bin, awkwardly bending on the knee of his good leg as he reached into it to pick up her crumpled letter of resignation. "Anyway. I suppose I came across a tad unreasonable about this. But I truly wish that you would reconsider."

She followed him over there, uncertainly. She had no clear idea what to do, she only knew that her brain was repeating in a mantra, _Diggory's hard for the first time in years. Because of me. Who hasn't had any in years._

Oh, wait ... that wasn't her brain. Different part of the anatomy altogether. She realized, as Diggory righted himself again, that she was standing very close to him, taking hold of him by his tie, and stroking her finger up it in a way that she was sure she'd have found incredibly silly just a few moments ago.

"Granger," he whispered, his pupils flaring to black moons that nearly eclipsed the translucent grey around them. His Adam's apple bobbed as he swallowed hard. "What are you doing?"

"You have your first erection in three years?" she whispered back. "For me?"

She brushed her thigh along his and he made a rather high-pitched whimpering sound. She had him pushed against the edge of his desk, craning her neck to look up into his impossibly dark eyes.

"For you?" he repeated. "That's a loaded turn of phrase." He studied her, pursing his lips slightly, his eyes slowly crinkling with a smile. "Why, do you have any use for it?"

"Might have," she confessed, her hand caressing his smooth-shaven jaw, before drifting down to his neck. She was scared then because he just stayed there holding his breath, didn't make any attempt to advance and she got an icy feeling in her stomach as she wondered if she'd just made a massive fool of herself -- and then he dipped his head with a suddenness that seemed endearingly shy, and brushed his lips slanted across hers.

This time, the breathed "Oh!" came from both of them at once. The hand that wasn't holding the cane landed on her hip, curving around her waist, inviting her closer. Hermione clutched his arms, then his shoulders, looking for purchase as their mouths danced softly around a touch that was as much a question as a kiss. Then, the answer -- his hand splaying out over the small of her back, securing her close to him; her arms twining around his neck as she stood on tiptoe and parted her lips to his tongue.

And it was so tender, so instantly needy, such a surprise -- she found her eyes closed and her voice giving way in her soft moan, entranced in the gliding exploration of his tongue, gently pressing into the erection she felt against her stomach. She felt his heartbeat like slams on a drumskin against her chest, his hips already moving, trying for relief.

He broke away, gasping. "Damn, I'm sorry -- I can't help--"

"It's okay," she said, holding his face with both hands, swaying into him again as she lowered her hands to start unbuttoning his shirt. "I want this." She stopped again to raise her wand to the door and say a Locking Charm, and it seemed it was that act rather than her words that drove home to him what she wanted to happen.

"I never do this sort of thing," he told her dazed, and she couldn't hold back a shaky laugh.

"That sounds like it should be my line."

He laughed too, then. "We can say it together. On the count of three; one, two--" He leaned forwards and searched out her mouth again, his hand moving down her shirtfront now, slipping buttons free, deft with it.

He slid his palm over her breast, his thumb pulling down the lace cup and stroking the tip so it hardened, rolling it between two fingers next, and in the rush of intense sensation she had a formidable challenge just in finishing unbuttoning his shirt so she could slide her hands over his chest, down his stomach. Diggory broke away from the kiss and groaned against her neck when her palm drifted lower, into the waistband of his pants.

"Is it all right," he whispered, "if I admit that I'm terrifyingly nervous?"

She pressed a sweet smile onto his jaw. "It's all right. I'll be gentle."

"Isn't that _my_ line?"

She looked him in the eyes, both turned on and touched by the desperate need she saw there. "No," she murmured. "I don't need you to be gentle."

"Maybe _I_ need to be," he countered with a soft-spoken intensity that stole her breath away. He raised his hand to her hair, stroked it with that innate kindness he had, in an almost protective gesture. "Hermione," he said, "I was there on the battlefield the last day. I heard your screams when Ronald Weasley fell. I know how much --" He stopped, pressing his lips together. "What I'm trying to say is that whatever you feel, it's okay, and if it gets too much, I don't need this so badly that you can't stop me."

It was funny how her unexpected relief at his words made her laugh even as tears were startled into her eyes. She started unbuttoning his fly slowly and methodically. "You are a very -- very -- sweet -- noble -- silly -- man," she told him in a husky voice, punctuating her sentence with each button slipping free. "Thank you." And with that, she pulled the pants down on his thighs, then eased his boxer shorts over the bulge inside them, paused for a second to look at his dark straining cock, and closed her palm around it. 

Diggory gasped for breath and groaned out loud, and she smiled and reached for her wand to cast the contraceptive spell. "How would you like to do this?"

***

Years later, the Daily Prophet staff still reminisced about the day Cedric Diggory shagged Hermione Granger in his office. 

As Lavender Brown would always repeat, her eyes shining with glee, there are things even the strongest _Muffliato_ spell can't do. Like, prevent the motions causing the silenced sounds from reverberating through walls and adjoining furniture.

In the hallway outside the editor's office, quite a few employees congregated in silence before the canteen cupboard, watching as glasses, cups and teaspoons jiggled, rattled and jumped with the escalating action on the other side of the wall.

***

The sensation of Diggory pushing inside her, as she sat with her thighs spread wide on the edge of his desk, was nothing short of a revelation.

She had convinced herself that sex wasn't that vital, that she could do just as fine without, that the pleasure of it just wasn't worth all the complicated emotions wrapped up in letting someone that close. Suddenly, she remembered that she was wrong.

"Can you go slow?" she gasped, looking up into his face. His eyes were squeezed shut, his expression a study in the balance between sensation overload and rapture. "Just for a little while?"

With an effort, he opened his eyes. "Can try," he said with a crooked, tiny smile. He brushed her cheek briefly with his hand. "Hurts?"

"No," she exclaimed, "God no, it's just so _lovely_ \--" She broke off and moaned as he pulled halfway out slowly, then just as slowly pressed back in again. He was trembling, teeth clenched, one hand braced on the edge of the desk, the other moving up to rub her clit between slick fingertips. She nearly cried, it felt that good.

"Diggory, please--"

"Cedric?" he breathed, sliding in and out of her with the same tense restraint. "Please?"

"Cedric," she whispered, her words coming fast and unsteady, "so good when you ... fuck me while you ... do that."

He groaned. "I'll probably last thirty seconds, max. Sorry."

"Is your leg okay? Sure you don't want to trade places, me on top?"

He laughed, a very unsteady, hoarse sound. "Nah. Then I'd last _three_ seconds. My leg's ... subordinate to my dick at the moment, no worries..." He kept rolling her clit, gradually moving faster, his breath rushing out of him in big unguarded moans. She clasped her thighs around his hips to help steady him, then raised her own hand to her breasts since he needed one hand to brace himself upright, and looked him in the eyes as she pinched and tugged on her nipples. His eyes slammed shut as if it was too much to take, and her eyes fell closed too, and for a second it was another face she saw, coppery bangs falling into blue eyes glazed with awed tenderness and lust. She gave a soft cry, her breath catching with the sense memory of it.

"All right?" He had opened his eyes again, watching her.

"Just saying good-bye," she got out in a whisper, and shook her head violently when his fingers on her clit slowed. "Please don't stop. Please don't stop," she whimpered urgently. It was building now, a hot shuddering flood rising inside, and if Cedric only lasted for thirty seconds, maybe it would still be enough.

Seeing her trembling on the edge, he grunted out loud and started thrusting in earnest, slamming into her so hard it shook the desk and made pictures dance on the wall. She writhed, managed somehow to catch the press of his fingers just so, and the tension released in a sweet sharp flood of pleasure. She cried out and threw her head back so hard she banged it against the wall and just about knocked herself witless. Cedric was already following, grinding into her with the most entrancing gasp of relief moving over his face.

He'd lasted a minute at the very least, and his orgasm seemed to last almost as long. 

He sagged over her after, his forearms resting on the desk on either side of her now. He raised a hand to gently probe the back of her skull. "Damn, Granger. You'll have a bit of an egg there," he panted.

She started laughing. "It was _so_ worth it. Ow!"

"I second that sentiment," he said. "Both sentiments. I need to sit down."

"Chair," she ordered, spurring him lazily with her heels on his backside, and he reached out and wheeled the swivel chair close to him and sank down on it, his strong arms clasping her and holding her glued to his front. He didn't even slip out of her.

He stroked her hair away from her face, and regarded her with awe. "I have no words for how fantastic that felt."

"No kidding," said Hermione. She felt something on her bum, and craned her neck around, collapsing in light-headed giggles. "I have something stuck on my bottom."

He reached around her and as he peeled the paper away from her sweat-damp skin, burst out laughing. "It's your resignation letter. A hint from above?"

"Oh, my," she said, the giggles turning to gasps of laughter. They shook against each other for a moment, as she laid her head on his shoulder and reached out to play with his tie.

"You are in a scandalous state of half-undress," she remarked. "You look like you've been servicing at a--"

He stopped the words with his fingers over her mouth, eyes glittering with warning laughter. "Don't even say it. I concede the point."

They rested for yet a while, his hands caressing warmly over her back, her own sliding lazily over his chest. "I have to tell the twins about this," said Hermione at last, wonder in her voice. "Their potion hotwired your, um, dick."

"Hotwired?" he asked, amused.

"Muggle-speak for ... hmm. Let's say it kick-started your broom." She gave an impish smile as he cocked an eyebrow at her. "I believe there is a market for that sort of thing."

"If you can find any way to tell them that doesn't entail revealing my whole woeful history, I'd appreciate it," said Cedric with a wince. "Those two jokers would never let me live it down."

She brushed her lips along his collarbone, which she had just discovered was exceedingly beautiful. "I'll think of a way. Anyway, they don't think badly of you any longer, trust me. They wanted me to get together with you, remember? They started liking you during the war, it's just not in their nature to ever gracefully admit so."

"All right then." He sighed. "Listen, Granger, about your resignation letter--"

She pushed herself away from his chest a bit to look at him. "I ... guess I'm a little more convinced that we could work together, than I was when I walked in here."

"I should think," he said with feeling. "God."

"Of course, there is the freelancing option to consider. I'd still do the job."

He placed a quick, gentle kiss on her cheek. "I'm not that much for freelancing options," he said in a hush. "I tend to prefer more steady arrangements."

She dropped her gaze, abruptly shy of the sweetness in his voice. "What exactly are you talking about?"

He sighed softly, and drew her close again, murmuring into her hair. "It's no matter. We have time to discuss all of that later. I guess for now, we should concentrate on getting out of this office without everyone knowing just what we've been up to."

Hermione nuzzled into his neck with a smug, contented smile. "Thank God for _Muffliato_ charms."

***

Years later, people still had a laugh sometimes around the Daily Prophet office about the day Hermione Granger and Cedric Diggory began their relationship.

An hour after Granger had walked into his office, they emerged from the room together, not a hair out of place -- well, Granger's hair was a law unto itself, as Lavender said, sniggering, but overall they appeared altogether unruffled -- and found reporters, secretaries and other staff busy at work, no one raising their head in suspicion.

Diggory, however, quietly placed his hand on Granger's back as they walked out the main entrance, and she shifted just a little inch closer, and at that point Lavender couldn't resist leaning over to her nearest colleague, a wistful expression passing over her face.

"Don't quote me on this, because I do hate to admit it," she whispered (although later she would quote herself on this on every conceivable occasion) -- "but damned if that isn't the most darling thing I _ever_ saw."

 

-end-


End file.
